


One Unheard Message

by ActualWritesThings



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualWritesThings/pseuds/ActualWritesThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since the Lone Wanderer left DC. Sometimes she calls those she left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Unheard Message

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [keelahsomethigh's modern fallout au](http://keelahsomethigh.tumblr.com/post/132050572711/so-me-and-notactuallyherenotreally-have-been) and listening to [ Hello](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQHsXMglC9A) on repeat

Butch stumbled into his shithole of an one-roomed apartment, groaning internally at the stifling heat and still air that had permeated all of DC, causing sweat to drip down the back of his neck no matter what he did to try to cool down. A rickety old fan in the corner did its best to move the air, but it was fighting a losing battle. Opening the fridge, he allowed himself a few moments to revel in the coolness before grabbing a beer and shutting the door. He walked the three steps over to the old couch that doubled as his bed and slumped down onto it, pressing the sweating bottle to his forehead. Cracking it open with a practiced motion, he took a long swing, eyes roaming around his apartment as he did.  


The answering machine's light blinked at him, probably a telemarketer or his landlord bitchin' at him about rent again. Rolling his eyes, he halfway stood up to press the button before sagging back down against the relative coolness of the threadbare couch.  


“Butch.” Butch bolted upright and stared at the answering machine, Lettie's voice was tinny but it was unmistakably her. “It's uh- it's me. I'm safe, Dogmeat's safe, we're both fine. I'm in a new city; no, I'm not telling you where. Listen. I, uh- fuck.” There was a long silence, long enough that Butch was expecting the message to just end, but then. “I just. I wanted you to know that I meant what I wrote and that- that I'm sorry.”  


There was a audible click and the standard “end of unheard messages” fell into the humid air.  


He drained the rest of his beer in a few swallows and immediately went and got another. At least he knew she was alive. 

-0-0-0-

The heat had grown worse and the city had all but shut down under it, people doing just the bare minimum of what was required of them. Butch had only had two customers the entire day, both of them asking to have their hair cut shorter in the hopes that it would keep them cool, and part of him worried distantly about how he was going to make rent as he walked through the door. He looked toward the answering machine, just as he had everyday the past few days, hoping that there would a message.  


He noticed the light on the answering machine immediately this time and didn't hesitate to push play.  


“Butch,” her voice was tired, strained, and Butch could all but see her, shoulders tense and mind focused on something big, worrying over it like Dogmeat did a bone.  


“I don't even know why I'm calling you.  


“Actually, I know why. I- I miss you. I know that's my fault, leaving and all. And regret doesn't change things, but I still miss you. Every day.” There was a long pause like the last message, but this time Butch stayed right where he was, waiting for her to speak again.  


“I was scared. The Enclave- they got me. You know that week and a half I disappeared? That was them. I was so scared. So I left. I'm sorry. I should have told you. I'm sorry.” She was quiet, barely audible and Butch knew that she was curling in on herself as she spoke, the way she always did when she got like this. Once again, the longing to be wherever she was, to wrap his arms around her and not let go washed over him.  


“End of unheard messages.”  


Butch walked over to the fridge and rooted around in the back for the bottle of whiskey he knew was there. Beer wasn't gonna cut it tonight. 

-0-0-0-

Butch stomped into the apartment, hair plastered to his head from the summer thunderstorm that had finally broken the oppressive heat, drenching the entire city in a matter of minutes. Once more, the light on the answering machine blinked at him, the only light in the dim apartment. Butch flicked on the lights and stepped over the answering machine, wondering what Lettie was going to tell him tonight.  


“Butch.” Lettie's voice was cooler this time, almost calm, the way she was when she had a purpose. The last time Butch had heard her like that was when she decided that she was going to take down the Enclave no matter what. “I'm in New Vegas,” she rattled off an address as Butch scrambled to find pen and paper to write it down. “Bring Charon and bring ammo. Charon's more important than the ammo.  


“I'm going by my middle name here, so don't be surprised by that. Oh, and Butch? Tunnel Snakes rule.”

**Author's Note:**

> also posted to my [ tumblr](http://notactuallyherenotreally.tumblr.com/post/132640891047/remember-that-modern-fallout-au-that)
> 
> Comments are very welcome!


End file.
